taking care of his son—knowing he'dburn through the money and mortgage the property, and instead ensuring he'd have a slow but steady income throughout his life. More likely, it was life insurance. Will everything to Malcolm and Edward would be signing his death warrant.
When he changed the beneficiary to Jeremy, he protected his grandson with a similar clause—on Jeremy's death, if he was under thirty-five and had no children, the estate would be auctioned off to charity… and a letter would go to the current Alpha, listing details of murders Malcolm had committed that he couldn't defend under Pack Law.
The understanding, as with the original will, was that Malcolm could continue to use the house and receive a stipend. Maybe Edward was only thinking of protecting his grandson and his legacy. Maybe he even hoped that rather than be indebted to Jeremy for his living, Malcolm would actually get a job. If so, he hadn't understood his son very well.
As much as Malcolm complained about needing to go to Jeremy for money, I think he took a perverse pleasure in it. While he was off traveling the world, Jeremy was stuck home managing the estate. While Malcolm was at Stonehaven laying about the house, reading magazines and watching television, Jeremy was working long hours and agonizing over accounts, trying to keep the creditors at bay.
Jeremy could have kicked Malcolm out. There was no stipulation in the will forbidding it. But to do so meant relinquishing the only control he had over his father's behavior. Rid himself of the monster, and he'd only unleash him on the world. That was something Jeremy would never do.
The next day, the three of us were in the backyard, and had been for most of the afternoon, namely because Malcolm was indoors.
Antonio and Jeremy were wrestling. At first, Antonio thought it would be fun to teach me a few moves, but after a flip sent me skidding to the ground with a bloody nose, I was relegated to spectator status.
Personally, I would have continued playing, but when Jeremy hoisted me off the ground and set me on the stone wall, I knew I'd better stay there. Watching wasn't so bad. It was an interesting study of maneuvers and strategies, possibly transferable to more important things, like hunting.
Antonio had the clear advantage of weight and muscle, but he pinned Jeremy less than half the time. He'd thunder and charge, and Jeremy would just dart out of the way, often slipping around behind him and taking advantage of the momentum of Antonio's charge to knock him face first to the ground. Soon Antonio had a bloody nose to match mine, but no one suggested
he stop
playing.
Jeremy didn't always get out of the way in time. Once, when he was a split second too slow and Antonio had him flat on his back, the phone started to ring. Now, the phone was over a hundred feet away and inside the house, but all three of us heard it. Even in human form, we share a wolf's keener senses of smell and hearing.
“Will he answer it?” Antonio asked, taking his knee off Jeremy's chest.
“Only if he's expecting a call.”
“Are you?”
“No.” The phone continued to ring. “It's probably for you.”
Antonio grunted, grabbed his shirt from a nearby bush and wiped the streaming sweat from his face. He looked toward the house, hesitated, then headed for the back door. Jeremy sat up in the grass and rotated his shoulders, wincing as something cracked.
“Hop down, Clayton, and I'll show you some moves.”
We played for a few minutes before Antonio came back, walking out of the house even slower than he'd walked in.
“Trouble at home?” Jeremy said.
Antonio muttered something and dropped onto the grass. “A meeting in Chicago. My father can't make it. Something's happened at the factory and he's stuck in New York.”
“When do you leave?”
“Tonight. Damn. I hate responsibility.”
Jeremy smiled. “You're good at it. Better than anyone expected.”
Antonio snorted and broke an icy twig off a
When he changed the beneficiary to Jeremy, he protected his grandson with a similar clause—on Jeremy's death, if he was under thirty-five and had no children, the estate would be auctioned off to charity… and a letter would go to the current Alpha, listing details of murders Malcolm had committed that he couldn't defend under Pack Law.
The understanding, as with the original will, was that Malcolm could continue to use the house and receive a stipend. Maybe Edward was only thinking of protecting his grandson and his legacy. Maybe he even hoped that rather than be indebted to Jeremy for his living, Malcolm would actually get a job. If so, he hadn't understood his son very well.
As much as Malcolm complained about needing to go to Jeremy for money, I think he took a perverse pleasure in it. While he was off traveling the world, Jeremy was stuck home managing the estate. While Malcolm was at Stonehaven laying about the house, reading magazines and watching television, Jeremy was working long hours and agonizing over accounts, trying to keep the creditors at bay.
Jeremy could have kicked Malcolm out. There was no stipulation in the will forbidding it. But to do so meant relinquishing the only control he had over his father's behavior. Rid himself of the monster, and he'd only unleash him on the world. That was something Jeremy would never do.
The next day, the three of us were in the backyard, and had been for most of the afternoon, namely because Malcolm was indoors.
Antonio and Jeremy were wrestling. At first, Antonio thought it would be fun to teach me a few moves, but after a flip sent me skidding to the ground with a bloody nose, I was relegated to spectator status.
Personally, I would have continued playing, but when Jeremy hoisted me off the ground and set me on the stone wall, I knew I'd better stay there. Watching wasn't so bad. It was an interesting study of maneuvers and strategies, possibly transferable to more important things, like hunting.
Antonio had the clear advantage of weight and muscle, but he pinned Jeremy less than half the time. He'd thunder and charge, and Jeremy would just dart out of the way, often slipping around behind him and taking advantage of the momentum of Antonio's charge to knock him face first to the ground. Soon Antonio had a bloody nose to match mine, but no one suggested
he stop
playing.
Jeremy didn't always get out of the way in time. Once, when he was a split second too slow and Antonio had him flat on his back, the phone started to ring. Now, the phone was over a hundred feet away and inside the house, but all three of us heard it. Even in human form, we share a wolf's keener senses of smell and hearing.
“Will he answer it?” Antonio asked, taking his knee off Jeremy's chest.
“Only if he's expecting a call.”
“Are you?”
“No.” The phone continued to ring. “It's probably for you.”
Antonio grunted, grabbed his shirt from a nearby bush and wiped the streaming sweat from his face. He looked toward the house, hesitated, then headed for the back door. Jeremy sat up in the grass and rotated his shoulders, wincing as something cracked.
“Hop down, Clayton, and I'll show you some moves.”
We played for a few minutes before Antonio came back, walking out of the house even slower than he'd walked in.
“Trouble at home?” Jeremy said.
Antonio muttered something and dropped onto the grass. “A meeting in Chicago. My father can't make it. Something's happened at the factory and he's stuck in New York.”
“When do you leave?”
“Tonight. Damn. I hate responsibility.”
Jeremy smiled. “You're good at it. Better than anyone expected.”
Antonio snorted and broke an icy twig off a
Similar Books
